


And Nothing In Between

by SadSasquatch



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Drabble specific warnings can be found in the notes of the chapte, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Just a lot of love tbqh, M/M, Multi, Other, Smut, occasional gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:35:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadSasquatch/pseuds/SadSasquatch
Summary: Stealing hearts and having yours stolen in return; lips on lips for last kisses and stolen moments; little slices of heaven filling your heart before you’re plunged back into hell. Loving a Phantom Thief is complicated, to put it lightly.(Various reader insert drabbles from my tumblr account, steal-your-heart-imagines.)





	1. Free. (Akira)

**Author's Note:**

> Akira falls for Ryuji’s childhood best friend and girlfriend. And, as it is for everything Akira trips and falls into, it’s complicated.  
> (Minor swearing.)

Day 1.

“He’s not bad like everyone says he is.”

Akira looks up, surprised. So far today, he’s formed a contract for hellish power, met a talking cat, and almost died at the hands of his gym teacher. Despite this you still managed to catch him off guard.

“Hm?” He asks, half-surprised someone’s even talking to him without shivering in fear and half confused that you just expect him to know who you mean.

“Ryuji,” you clarify, shifting your textbooks in your arms and leaning against a locker. “I saw you come in with him this morning. Or this noon, I guess.” You smirk, and Akira’s heart speeds up a little. “The teachers and stuff always tell new students to stay away from him.”

Akira nods and twists a lock of hair around his finger. Your eyes flash steely as you continue. “He’s not bad,” you repeat. It looks like you want to say more but the bell rings and you’re sighing, turning on your heel and heading off to class before he knows it.

Akira watches you go and for some reason he can’t place, he wants you to think he’s not bad, too.

Day 6.

Akira doesn’t know his name, only that he sits three desks to his left, but the boy knows his name. He says it like it’s a bad word.

“I saw that Akira kid smoking while he was walking down Central Street yesterday…”. Akira listens to him gossip but doesn’t correct him. What’s the point? His gaze drops to his curry and Akira tries to focus on his lunch, not the voices across the room. Until he hears yours.

“That’s weird, I thought you were still grounded for failing that last test? Your mom let you off the hook a whole week early?”

The boy flushes red and his group falls into awkward silence.

Akira watches you sit back in your desk and stab your fork into your lunch like nothing happened, and, for some reason he can’t place, the rumors don’t really bother him anymore.

Day 25.

“Ryu, Akira’s coming with us for ramen after school. We’re celebrating!”

Should Akira be eavesdropping, wedged between a classroom door and a line of lockers as he tries to blend in? Probably not. But something about hearing you so excited puts a stupid grin on his face and makes him stay hidden, despite Morgana meowing ‘You’re crushing me!’.

“Hell yeah, let’s take Akira,” Ryuji laughs, “but why are we celebrating?”

“Duh!” You shove his shoulder; Ryuji feigns offense but you’re too excited to roll your eyes like usual. “Kamoshida’s downfall!”

Ryuji slings an arm around your shoulder, pumping his fist in the air. Akira’s stomach twists. Why is he so jealous of Ryuji right now?

“Eff yeah! I almost forgot we didn’t party about that yet!”

Ryuji’s voice fades into the hum of hallway gossip as you two walk away from Akira’s hiding spot.

As he heads back towards the classroom Akira tries to convince himself he’s not falling for his best friend’s girlfriend.

Unfortunately, he’s never been very good at lying to himself.

Day 30.

Asking Ryuji about you is some sick kind of masochism, but Akira needs to know. The doubting, the questions, the ‘maybe’s and ‘what if’s are eating him alive. Are they dating? Am I just imagining things? He’s sick of staring at the back of your head in class and just wondering, wondering, wondering.

“What, ________? Dude, I’ve known her since we were in diapers,” Ryuji gulps down a mouthful of noodles. “Why do you wanna know?”

Akira crosses his fingers and hopes Ryuji’s too busy demolishing his noodles to to notice the carnation-pink blush resting under his glasses.

“Just curious,” Akira lies casually, as if you haven’t been running through his mind nonstop for weeks. Ryuji side-eyes him with uncharacteristic suspicion and Akira almost has a heart attack. “She seems really nice.” He says quickly, poking his meal and smiling like he’s got nothing to hide.

Ryuji stops shoveling dinner in his mouth to grin, beaming. It’s the most purely happy he’s ever seen his blonde friend, and Akira’s heart withers in his chest. He doesn’t have to ask if you two are a couple, anymore. That look, that tenderness and glow flashing through Ryuji’s eyes, tells him the answer to every question that’s been haunting him since he first saw you.

“Yeah.” Ryuji nods. “She’s really just…great.”

Akira listens like a good friend should as Ryuji tells him about how you stayed with him all night in the hospital when Kamoshida broke his leg, how you slashed his dad’s tires one time after the bastard gave his Mom a black eye, how you stayed up all night to play video games with him all night even though he always kicked your ass.

And then, like a bad friend, he falls for you even harder.

Day 43.

You’re sitting on Ryuji’s living room floor, bawling, and Akira’s never felt more guilty in his entire life.

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you assholes?” You’re sobbing, Ryuji’s rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, and he just wants to beg for forgiveness. “You can’t just disappear after school for weeks and come back every day, exhausted, with new bruises and cuts and expect me not to freak out!”

Despairing, the blonde looks to Akira for help. Did we do the right thing by telling her we’re Phantom Thieves, Ryuji’s gaze asks, and honestly, Akira doesn’t know.

You hiccup pitifully and Ryuji sighs, getting off the couch to come wrap his arms around you. He rubs your back, gentle, and Akira can’t help but feel even worse.

“Look, _____… we’re sorry for worryin’ ya. And for keeping secrets. We won’t do it again.”

He watches, heart twisting, as you and Ryuji rest in a tangled lump on the floor. You’re done crying, he thinks; just a sniffle here and there is all that’s left.

“I’m really proud of both of you,” you admit eventually, voice still wobbly as you stand. Suddenly you tackle Akira in a hug, squeezing him so hard he can barely breathe. His eyes widen; his arms slowly wrap around your waist and he hugs you back. “Just be careful or I’ll crash into that Metaverse thing and kick both your asses, and your persona’s asses, too.”

Akira will never forgive himself for making you cry, but if your tears always lead to hugs like this, then he doesn’t feel as guilty as he should.

Day 49.

It’s almost three A.M. and for the first time since his eyes leaked with anger after he lost his trial, Akira’s crying. He loves you. He loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you.

And it’ll never change and it’ll never go away, no matter how many of Ryuji’s jokes you laugh at or nights you spend at Ryuji’s house or gifts you buy Ryuji because.

He loves you.

Day 60.

You’re sitting on his bed, wearing shorts and some kind of perfume that smells like summer, and Akira hates and loves the way his heart twists when you brush shoulders.

It’s just a study date. That’s not really bad, is it? He even invited Ryuji to look over the textbooks with them, too. It’s not Akira’s fault that the blonde couldn’t make it.

But Akira’s conscience won’t take the excuses. Every time you bite your lip and he’s suddenly focused on you, and not his math problems, alarms flare in his head. You’re betraying Ryuji!, his mind screams. He’s been nothing but kind and this is how you repay him?

But then you look up and smile at him, fingers barely grazing his as you point to a problem and ask if he can help you. His heart beats fast, way too fast, and his head spins and his conscience isn’t enough to stop the gentle warmth blooming through his chest. He just wants to kiss you. To hold your hand. To run his fingers through your hair. To call you his.

Back off, Akira’s mind warns. His heart won’t listen.

Day 72.

Akira sees red when Ryuji hits on the pretty young thing serving them ramen.

“Woah dude,” Ryuji recoils when he notices the look crossing his friends face. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to kill somebody.”

“So one girlfriend’s not enough?” Akira tries to keep calm, hold his tongue; it’s not his place to yell at Ryuji, not without really knowing his true intentions. He thinks about you bawling on the floor the other night, though, and imagines what you’d do if you found out your sweet boy was ogling other girls. Keeping calm suddenly seems impossible.

Ryuji stares blankly.

“I mean….I’d be fine with just one?” The blonde scratches his head. “You know I’ve never dated, right?”

Akira’s mind short circuits.

“Aren’t you and ________….”

Ryuji sputters, choking on his coke. His eyes go huge.

“Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait,” he leans across the table until he’s almost right in Akira’s face, “you thought ______ and I were dating?”

Akira nods, solemn but secretly hoping. Have I been wrong this whole time?

“Dude!” Ryuji shouts. “I was wonderin’ why you didn’t just ask her out!”

Now it’s Akira’s turn to stare blankly.

“You know I like her?”

“Uh, duh.” Ryuji gives him an ‘are-you-serious’ look. “Listen, I may not be the smartest guy around, but I’m not a total idiot. It’s obvious.”

Akira’s red as a fire truck. His mind’s still reeling.

“And uh….look. You’re my best friend so just trust me when I say go for it. She’s the greatest girl I know. Hell, you’d be effin’ stupid not to ask her out.” Ryuji shoves a generous amount of noodles in his mouth, ignoring the fact that his friend’s completely shell-shocked. “If you tell her I told you I’m gonna kill you, but she totally likes you too. She’s been talkin’ to me about you since the first day you dragged your ass into Shujin.”

For the first time since he set foot in Tokyo, Akira feels like everything’s going to be okay.

Day 73.

He kisses you, finally kisses you like he’s wanted to do since the first time you stopped him in the hallway, after school in a hidden corner of the Courtyard.

“I love you,” Akira says, rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone. Pure joy fills your eyes and he grins. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen just get more beautiful when they spill over with love.

He loves you, and for the first time it doesn’t make him feel guilty.

It makes him feel free.


	2. Inappropriate. (Yusuke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately for Ryuji, you and Yusuke get a little too passionate when you’re making out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my kiss prompt series(which is why it’s short).  
> Mildly NSFW~

Yusuke’s hands swim over the curve of your waist, lightly resting on your hips. Entranced, his fingers spin little circles over the fabric of your pants. You sigh against his lips, blissful. Appreciative, your fingers wind through Yusuke’s dark locks, gently massaging his scalp.   
“Ooooookay guys, you can stop now.” Ryuji’s voice cuts through the heat sparking between your lips and Yusuke’s, but you ignore him. You swipe your tongue along the boy’s bottom lip, teasing, and he quickly gets the message. Tenderly the pink muscle chases yours, sliding past your lips. Yusuke moans into your mouth, delicious vibrations toying with your nerves and sending heat straight to your core.  
“Uh, guys, seriously, you’re being super gross. The face eating does _not_ need to happen right in front of me.”  
Again, Ryuji’s voice is merely background noise. Delicately, Yusuke’s fingers toy with the hem of your clothing, rubbing the slivers of skin that his hands can reach. Your boyfriend’s firm touch sends liquid courage pumping through your veins and your fingers unwind from his soft hair. Slowly, your hands trail down Yusuke’s sides until your fingers coil in his pants belt-loops. Bold, you smirk into the kiss before you tug. Yusuke’s hips snap against yours and he half-moans, half-yelps. _Loud._  
 _“Oh my god!”_ Ryuji shouts, raking his hands through his hair. “Is it even ‘effin _**legal**_ to do that shit in public?!” He’s clearly distressed. You get the feeling he’d cover his eyes if he wasn’t shocked stiff.  
Yusuke breaks away, swallowing thickly. When he speaks, he’s breathing heavily, almost like he’s struggling for oxygen, and you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself. No one can say you’re bad at kissing.  
“I believe we are embarrassing Ryuji,” he comments, concerned.  
You merely grin, casting a smug look at the blonde boy fake-vomiting behind your boyfriend.  
“Good,” you purr, pulling Yusuke in for more, making sure to moan _far_ too loudly as your lips touch.   
Ryuji nearly collapses.


	3. Headshot. (Akechi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cognitive Akechi is capable of some awful things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for slight gore, reader death, allusions to suicide.

It happens too quick, like the flash right before a lightbulb burns out. One second your delicate hand covers your mouth, muffling a laugh. The next you’re on the ground, shocked eyes wide as dinner plates, with a little scarlet hole in your forehead.

Akechi freezes. Little bits of you are scattered everywhere; over your face, spilling on the floor,  _on his clothes_. Hesitating, shaking fingers brush the red spots littering his white shirt. His hands come away stained scarlet. Brown eyes flicker to your face;  _god please let there be light_ ; but your eyes are glassy, splashed with ruby specks. Akechi watches, helpless, as blood flows from your face. Slow, thick, like the syrup you poured on his pancake this morning. Akechi’s mouth claws open. Tries to scream. He collapses to his knees and starts retching instead.

_This wasn’t supposed to happen this wasn’t supposed to happen this wasn’t supposed to happen._

He crawls to you. When he pulls you into his arms, you don’t snuggle into his chest. When he brushes your hair, matted with goopy red, out of your eyes, you don’t giggle and press a kiss to his nose. You just lay there, ragdoll limp, and catch the tears pouring from Akechi’s eyes.

You told him you loved him this morning and he didn’t believe you because he was too scared.  _He’s always too scared._  He was too scared to accept when you held him as it rained and his heart simply ached from the weight of living. Too afraid when you played with his hair, massaging his headache away after another too-long day wearing his mask. Too timid when you wrapped your fingers through his and told him he was beautiful. Akechi claws at his mind, trying to remember how your voice sounded when you said it;  _I love you._   He wants those words to glitch through his mind over and over like a broken record but the memory just won’t come. Akechi sobs. Some kind of irony; he’s ready to listen now, but you can’t say it anymore.

But you meant it. You really did.  _You loved him._

“Shido-san was going to order you to kill the little plaything tonight.” Akechi’s own voice hits his ears, but it’s cold at the edges and sharp like broken glass. Blurry eyes tear away from your body as Akechi forces himself to stand. On the other side of a smoking gun stands himself; or something like himself, with crueler eyes and sharper teeth and none of the screaming in his heart and head.

“He still thinks it wasn’t real. That your precious toy was just another pawn in your game.” The shadow’s face twists into an ugly smirk as it rumbles with a coy little chuckle. Akechi feels electric rage spark through his veins; he can’t stop shaking. “But we both know that’s not true, don’t we? What a blessing Shido doesn’t need the  _rea_ l you to snuff out that little annoyance.”

Akechi wants to scream at this demon, this hellspawn wearing his skin, but when he tries all that falls from his lips is a choked sob. You’re still too close; even this anger, this  _rage_  that sticks like burning vomit in his throat, can’t claw ahead of the feeling of his sky falling down, his sun burning out, his world turning to dust.

“Pathetic,” it sneers. Akechi can’t blame it. It’s right. He was too fucking pathetic to let you love him and look what happened.  _Your brains are splattered on his shoes._

Akechi can’t scream but he can kill. From the holster at his belt, he whips his gun and aims it at that demon’s forehead. If you go down with a stupid fucking bullet in your head so does your killer. Akechi’s jaw clenches; this is a battle he won’t lose. The thing laughs.

“Do you think you really have the guts for that? Now, after all this?”

He does because he pulls the fucking trigger, he pulls it  _again and again and again_ , until it’s just the mess of you staining the ground and Akechi sobbing wretchedly, alone.

Years of planning crumble to ash as Akechi takes one last look at the ground; one last look at the body growing cold; one last look of all the goddamned  _red_ that used to be you. None of his schemes matter now. Only this tearing in his chest.

Shido dies tonight.

His son will die right after.


	4. Casual. (Yusuke; NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to popular belief, Yusuke can be smooth sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delicious, lovely fingering; NSFW. Fem!Reader.

Futaba, as is usually the case, is wrong about him.

Yusuke doesn’t remember what brought their lighthearted little fight on, just the little quip she fired off while lounging on one of Leblanc’s  stools.

“Don’t make me laugh, Inari! You wouldn’t know what ‘casual’ was if it bit you in the butt!”

Yusuke protested, of course, looking to you for support; instead, he found you covering a giggle, shaking your head. For once, you agreed with the _aggressor! What utter betrayal!_

No matter. He’d simply have to prove to you just how smooth and casual he can really be.

You’re sprawled on the couch when his plan grinds to a beginning, buzzing in the front of his mind as he slips behind you. Welcoming his body slotting against your curves, you hum; his arms wrap softly around your hips, tugging you close until you’re flush against his toned chest.

“What’s up, Yusuke?” you ask, craning your neck to meet his impossibly slate eyes. Soft, his lips brush the top of your head; a quiet  _‘nothing, darling’_ , he offers, arms settling looped around your waist. Long legs relax, resting next to your own. Yusuke sighs, satisfied, as your eyes dart back to the technicolor dance of the TV. For a moment, he basks in your proportions; your shorter limbs framed by his body, surrounded fully by him. Smooth, soft like silk, his face dips to your skin. Gentle warmth floods his chest, curling through his ribs like cigar smoke as his nose skips along your neck. A little reluctantly, Yusuke crushes the urge to nip new marks over your skin; he’s proving himself, after all.  _Casual_ , he chants to himself. The simple mantra reigns in his mounting desire.

Yusuke simply nuzzles, breathing in your scent.  _Soap_ , he registers first,  _something light and sweet._ He sighs against your collarbone.  _Light musk, natural, and a dusting of sweat_. It  _is_  the dead of summer, after all. For now, he bites his tongue.  _Don’t taste;_   _not yet,_  he tells himself.  _Casual._

Unconsciously, you grind against his hips when you readjust to rest your head on Yusuke’s shoulder. The boy nearly short-circuits. Carefully-constructed plans almost fly out the window as goosebumps hike across his pale skin. _Almost_ , but Yusuke’s better than that. His mouth drops to your neck, lips brushing feather-light on your skin.

Minutes drag by as he bides his time, planting tiny kisses up and down your neck. Once you’re totally relaxed against him, fingers shift on your hips. Gently, Yusuke massages circles over your skin. Little sparks of heat  _pop pop pop_ through his veins like soda bubbles bursting. He swallows slightly as you snuggle into him, pleased; keep touching, your body asks, and who is he to deny?

Swift, Yusuke’s tongue swipes across your neck. You gasp lightly, arching into him. Callouses inch beneath your pants waistband, Yusuke’s broad hands skimming nearer to your folds. Just as quick as they start, though, they stop. The boy’s touch lingers, toying with the edges of your underwear.

“Your favorite pair,” he hums against your skin, smirking delicately. He’s grasped this thin fabric between his fingertips often enough, endured your frantic pleas of  _‘don’t rip those!’_ ,to know this special garment by feel alone.“Did you perhaps wear these hoping to tempt me into something later?” Yusuke purrs, hot breath sending goosebumps hiking across your skin. A quiet gasp rewards him; a whimpered little _‘Yusuke…’_  tumbling from your pretty lips. “Hush,” he responds. “Simply relax.” A smirk flirts with the edges of his lips as his fingers smoothly push underneath your panties. Desperately, you arch into his lap.  _Who’s the casual one now,_  he wants to tease, but he settles for dropping his lips to your collarbone and sucking gently.

“Yusuke, baby, what are you—ah!” He cuts you off with a self-satisfied chuckle and a long finger dragged across your clit. Moving against you slow like syrup, Yusuke coaxes a shudder up your spine. Lips lift from your skin with a wet  _pop!_ as Yusuke breaks away to rest his chin on your shoulder. His other hand snakes between your bodies, diving to your folds. Delicately, deft fingers hold you open. Satisfied, a laugh rumbles through his chest as you writhe against him. The friction’s  _delicious._

“Hush now,” Yusuke purrs gently, half lidded eyes fixed on his hands moving expertly in your pants. Gently, his thumb presses your clit, circling until you’re a writhing mess. He gulps deeply as you buck against his palms, your body begging for release. Thoughts rush through his head;  _you are sublime, you are perfection, you utter goddess_. The heat sparking through his veins nearly drowns his goal, but you’re so damn  _close_  he can’t let his hardening cock break this subtle, smooth facade he’s so carefully constructed.  _Casual,_  he reminds himself as a long finger plunges into you.  _Casual, casual, casual._  Yusuke’s toes curl, a strangled gasp tumbling out of him as you clench around his finger.

You’re so warm, so soft; utter bliss. Yusuke bites his lip as he coaxes you open, stretching another finger inside. Slowly, he starts pumping. One hand thrusts,  _up-down-up-down,_  while the other toys with your throbbing clit. His senses overwhelm him. Your heady desire curls through his nose, spurring him on. Mewling drowns out the TV’s quiet hum. Heat stabs and curls and twists, sparking in Yusuke’s gut.

Wetness covers his hands as he crooks his fingers; ‘right there!’ you squeal as Yusuke pumps, satisfied.  _Hit the sweet spot._

Yusuke coaxes a little scream from you before he tugs your panties away in one expert stroke. The sight of his fingers diving in and out of you, _fucking you,_ pushes you to the edge; Yusuke groans as your hot walls clench against his digits.

“Go ahead,” he finally allows, purring against your ear. “Come undone on my hand. Cover me with yourself.”

Yusuke pauses as you thrash, riding out the orgasm shaking your body. Satisfied, he notes the rush of wetness coating his hand, the heat fanning against his palm. He holds your hips in place, desire-filled eyes trained on your face as you cling to bliss. Slowly, you body stutters to a stop and you collapse back against his chest, panting.

“And was my demeanor casual enough for you?” Yusuke hums teasingly, brushing a chaste kiss over your lips. You nod, breathless, and he smirks.

“Excellent,” he sighs, fighting to shove words past the thickness camped in his throat. In one fluid movement, he flips you; your back presses flush against the couch cushions, Yusuke looming over you. “As my goal has been accomplished…” He plants a knee between your legs, grinding against your over-sensitive clit, and grins like the devil.

“I believe I have earned the right to fuck you senseless.”


	5. Maple Syrup. (Akechi; NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spilling your breakfast isn't so bad when Akechi's there to clean up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

Akechi’s perched on a barstool next to you chatting comfortably as you both dig into the pancakes he’s whipped up for breakfast when your elbow crashes into the syrup jar and the entire meal’s atmosphere shifts instantly.

Syrup’s everywhere. How you managed to spill quite so much is beyond him, but then again, the ace detective’s not-so-subtly focusing on other things. It makes him ashamed, for half a second; the fact that his mind can’t help but flirt with dirty little thoughts when you’re around.  

But then his eyes dart to the fat crumb of pancake clinging to the edge of your lips. The slight hint of red tinting your cheeks as you stare sheepishly at the mess, then at him. The drops of syrup splashed against your collarbone, sweet ink glazed over a canvas of soft skin. The stream of maple wandering slow, painfully slow, down your chest and  _dear lord,_  how he wants to taste it. Impurities cloud his mind and heat swirls in the pit of his stomach. Akechi just can’t help himself. When he watches you perched on his barstool wearing maple syrup and pajamas that expose delicious amounts of skin he knows his mind shouldn’t be indulging in images of you, stripped, moaning and pressed between his nimble tongue and the kitchen counter. The shame fades too fast, though; all he feels is  _hunger._

“Akechi,” you hum, either not noticing the hunger glazing his eyes or just assuming he’s still lusting over the pile of pancakes stacked high on his plate, not you. “Can you grab me a washcloth or something, I don’t want to drip on your floor or anything…”

“Of course,” he says. Or at least, it’s what he  _wants_  to say, but the poor boy’s in a trance. Instead he swallows thickly, watching a trail of light brown drip from the corner of your lips. Dragging lazily, it trails down the curve of your breast and Akechi feels liquid heat swirling through his veins. “Akechi?” You call his name, concerned, and he tears his eyes from the syrup staining your skin. He smiles, strained, pasting a polite facade over the desire coiling so tightly in his belly that it almost hurts.

“Ah yes, I believe I have some dishcloths around here somewhere we can use,” Somehow, the boy hides the heat sparking through him like firecracker, covering it with a thick layer of casual politeness. He feels a little proud of himself, to be honest. Keeping his cool isn’t all that challenging after all.

That is, until your soft voice fills his ears again and your fingers hesitantly grasp his wrist.

“Are you okay, Akechi?” That’s all it takes for him to shatter. He spins on you, suddenly. Lips crash on lips. His body fuses against yours, pushing and pulling, magnetic. His own pajamas are getting sticky but the typically neat boy simply couldn’t care less at the moment. Bold, he steps forward, guiding you back until you’re trapped between him and the counter. You yelp against his mouth and he takes it as an invitation, slipping his tongue delicately along your teeth.

Akechi doesn’t spend long against your lips. Quick like fire sparking into flame, his mouth travels along one of the syrupy splashes decorating your soft skin. Teasing, his tongue presses flat against you. Slowly the pink muscle drags along a trail of maple syrup, simply savoring the taste of sugar laced with you. Heavy breathing barely registers in the back of his mind as Akechi loses himself to his senses. Everything is wrapped in touch (the heat of your fingers carding through his hair), in smell (maple and that sweet-smelling body wash you always use), in sound (little moans and whimpers tumbling from your mouth as he sucks blooming purple marks against your skin), in sight (your shirt hiking up so that your smooth skin presses against his stomach) and most importantly taste; maple and sugar and heat dances along his tastebuds until his head’s spinning violently. Akechi’s intoxicated with you.

Heat courses through him like electricity, flowing back-and-forth in circuits between your bodies. The mess is long forgotten as Akechi nips and sucks at your skin, erasing every last hint of the little accident. Sensations dissolve into mere fragments of sparking heat and whispered breaths and all you know is that you need _more._  Hungry, you roll your hips against the boy ravishing your skin. Teasing laughter bubbles deep in his chest and you nearly melt as he grinds slowly, fluidly against you.

He slides a long finger against your clit, rewarding you with delicious friction when you whimper his name.

“Hush,” he chides, smirking against your skin. Akechi drags a thumb slowly over your bottom lip before gently pushing it in; a bolt of heat jumps through his veins as you readily accept the digit in your mouth. Sighing, he nuzzles your soft skin before he nips at your neck; sharp, sweet, all at once. You can’t help but moan as his soft hand pins your wrists behind you, flush against the granite countertop, and he rumbles against your skin:

_“I’ve barely begun my breakfast.”_


	6. Gonna Be Okay. (Ryuji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji wakes up in the hospital. You're taking it harder than he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short so I'm sorry about that, but it's one of my favorites ^.^

When he opens his eyes you’re curled up in an armchair in the corner, bawling.

Ryuji panics, and it’s not because he doesn’t know where he is or why he’s there or why the hell there’s needles and IVs winding like vines out of his skin. 

“Hey,” he croaks, wincing as his voice cracks. “Cut that out.” Probably not the best thing to say, not when he’s trying to ease whatever in your heart is making you cry like the world’s about to come crashing down. To be fair, though, his head feels like it’s filled with fog and splitting open and hell, he’s never been the smartest guy around in the first place, anyway.

“Ryuji!” You cry out, instantly unfurling. Your eyes meet his and no amount of whatever painkiller they’ve got pumping through him could dull the twist in his chest when his sees your gaze laced with panic and pain. “I’m so glad you’re awake…” He hates the way your voice trembles and how your palm swipes quickly at the edges of your eyes.

“C’mere,” he whispers, patting the bed. When you sit his fingers wrap through yours, tugging you closer. Ryuji ignores how much effort it takes and sits up, despite the look in your eyes telling him he should probably be resting. He pulls you into his chest. “It’s gonna be okay,” he sighs into your hair, rubbing your back. “I promise it’s gonna be okay.”

You pull away, just for a split second, to readjust. Gentle, so gentle it almost starts your tears flowing again, Ryuji slips his mouth against yours, and he kisses until you believe him.


	7. Set-up.(Akira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hidden feelings have been bubbling under the surface for far too long, so the Phantom Thieves make it their new mission to force you and Akira to confess your feelings to each other. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for Yusuke being a fucking savage at one point tbh

_ Attempt 1. _

“Is it just me, or is the Monabus a bit smaller than usual?”

It’s not just you, Akira thinks, shooting a glance at your thighs squished way too close together. Between Ann insisting her bag  _ had  _ to go on the seat (since when did she start packing for trips to the Metaverse) and Ryuji’s legs spread damn near close to a 180 degree angle, there’s definitely a lot less breathing room.

“No!” Ann insists suddenly, shrilly. Akira winces. “Why? Does it, uh, seem smaller?” She laughs nervously; Akira quirks an eyebrow.  _ What’s with the bad acting?,  _ he wonders. _ Something’s definitely up. _

“I mean… it does seem like we’re a lot... _ closer _ ...than usual…” The blonde spreads too much ‘casual’ in her voice as she twirls a lock of hair around her finger, staring pointedly at Akira.

She can say that again. Akira clears his throat and wishes his mask covered a bit more of his face, if only to hide the carnation pink blooming across his cheeks. If you were any closer you’d be in his lap.

Not that it doesn’t feel good. Because it does. You’re warm, and the way your soft side is pressed up against him feels deliciously natural.  _ Right.  _ He sneaks a glance at you. Your eyes are glued to your feet, hands lightly fidgeting in your lap; if not for your gloves you’d have worn your fingertips bloody by now.  _ Are you nervous _ , too, Akira wonders. Something deep in his chest hopes you are; hopes that it’s not just him. Hopes that you, too, think he smells nice, and he feels good flushed against you, and you’re soft like clouds.

Carnation pink quickly morphs into firetruck red as his blush consumes his face.  _ I don’t wanna deal with this today, _ Akira thinks.  _ Or ever, probably. _

“Let’s head back soon,” he suggests. “No point staying for much longer, since we already took out our target for the trip.”

He hates how disappointed he is when you nod, sighing like you’re relieved, and ask if you can ride in the front seat next time.

_ Mission failure. _

_ Attempt 4. _

Makoto feels a bit cruel as she watches you peer out the front doors, grip tightening on the umbrella she stole from your locker after you wandered back to your classroom during lunch break. This is the hardest it’s rained all month, she considers, listening to the steady pit-pat-pit-pat of rain drumming Shujin’s rooftop. Maybe she should sneak your umbrella back and try the plan again another, less torrential day? She’s trying to get you a boyfriend, after all, not a runny nose from trudging home in pouring rain. 

Quick footsteps echoing down the hall snap her attention away from her moral dilemma. Could it be Akira? Makoto bites her lip, silently peeking around the edge of her hiding spot behind a clump of lockers. This could be it, she thinks-- after all their scheming, hard work, disappointment--! She tenses, excited.

When Mishima turns the corner Makoto visibly deflates.

“Oh, hi, ___________!” His cheerful voice rings shy but clear through the otherwise empty hallway. When he reaches you he stills, eyebrows scrunching together in concern. “Where’s your umbrella?”

“Can’t find it,” you sigh, shifting the strap of your bag. “It’s so weird. I know I brought the stupid thing to school this morning.”

“Oh!” Mishima exclaims, brightening. “You can walk to the station with me, if you want. Your way home is pretty close to the route I usually take.”

Makoto glares daggers at Mishima as he unfurls the umbrella, making space for you underneath with a shy smile. For a half-second she considers posting an admin-directed hate comment on the Phantom Aficionado website, but she sighs and tugs her phone from her pocket instead.

“Mission failed,” she texts to the group chat Futaba set up for discussing their romantic plot. “Mishima intercepted _________ and offered to share his umbrella. It looks like Akira won’t get his shot at coming to the rescue, today, after all…” 

So much for getting a kiss in the rain.

_ Mission failure. _   
_ Attempt 7. _

Yusuke’s horribly offended that he’s been referred to as a ‘last-ditch effort’, but since it’s for the good of the Phantom Thieves’ latest (and arguably toughest) mission, he plasters on an agreeable smile when you and Akira sit stiffly on his dorm’s chairs, anyway.

“Thank you both for agreeing to be my models on such short notice,” Yusuke comments, fussing with his paints. Even he can feel the tension humming through the air, the buzz of unspoken wants and unaddressed feelings. Has it always been this bad, he wonders? 

“You know,” he says at length, just trying to break the smothering silence at this point. “I wish you two would position your chairs a mite closer. If you’re to be the focal point, as I plan, you must be close enough to be considered a single unit.” Maybe it’s a transparent ploy to bring you two closer, but it’s working, Yusuke notes as shuffling chairs scrape against the floor. 

Yusuke turns to observe you two and sighs. No amount of pigment could match the firetruck red plastered on your cheeks.

“Please, be at ease,” Yusuke grits, frustrated. “I wish to paint ‘unspoken desires’, not ‘pitiable, romantic-pining awkwardness’.”

When you bolt upright your chair skitters back, crashing to the floor so hard Yusuke’s sure it dented the floor. Somehow when he looks in your eyes, startled, the hardwood doesn’t matter so much (even if there’s a fine for damaging dorm room property). His heart falls in his chest as he watches the emotions swirl through your gaze; embarrassment, anger,  _ shame.  _ That wasn’t his intent, he wants to quickly reassure. He’s sorry, he wants to say. Yusuke’s mouth falls open, ready to try to smooth his brash words but it’s too late. You’re gone. Out the door in a mess of fury and tears collecting in the corners of your eyes. Akira stares behind you, torn; a little hurt, a little angry, and a little bewildered Yusuke actually says things like that out loud.

“It may not be my place, especially after my words caused this situation in the first place…” Yusuke finally clears his throat, nodding to Akira, speechless, watching you flee down one of Kosei’s winding  dorm room hallways. “...but I suggest that you pursue.”

Akira’s sprinting down the hallway before Yusuke even finishes.

_ Attempt 7: Aftermath. _

You’re crying freely by the time Akira finally catches up to you in the shade of one of Kosei’s courtyard sakura trees. Breathing heavily, he reaches out to grasp your shoulder. You flinch under his fingers; Akira recoils.  _ You’re  _ **_really_ ** _ upset,  _ he realizes.

“Hey,” he says, gently; you won’t look at him. “It’s okay,” Akira comforts. “It’s okay.”

Roughly, you swipe a sleeve over your red eyes and stare at your shoes. You sigh, heavy, and shake your head. For a few moments you just stand there, quiet, just breathing.

“I’m sorry, Akira,” you breathe eventually, after the silence hanging over you grows thick and uncomfortable. Finally, you look at him, lips drawn thin. “Yusuke was just...being Yusuke. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“Why did you?”

You shake your head at that, forcing a laugh as your cheeks go pink again. “I haven’t ever been that embarrassed by anything in my life. You wanna tell me you weren’t at least a  _ little _ thrown off by what Yusuke said?”

“I’m not embarrassed by the truth. I  _ do  _ have feelings for you.” The words are out of Akira’s mouth before he even knows he’s saying them, but he doesn’t try to take them back. He looks at you, soft, confident. He steps closer, tilting his head a little. He smiles, slightly and sweetly, and your heart melts. “At least, it’s the truth for me.”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling back. Now  _ his _ heart melts. “It’s the truth for me, too.”

Akira’s arms are around you, then, and then his lips are brushing feather-light against yours. Your fingers curl in the inky black of his messy curls; his hands rub gently against the small of your back, tugging your body closer against him. He’s soft, and warm, and he smells like heaven, and no matter how long your mouth is on his, you still won’t get your fill of kissing him.

(It makes a perfect photo, and when Yusuke sends the shot of you melting into Akira and proclaims the Phantom Thieves’ victory, they’re too busy cheering to scold the young artist for snooping.

_ Mission Success _ .)


	8. Kissing in the Rain. (Akechi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgotten umbrellas are the last thing on your minds.

Despite the rain, he knows you’re crying. He knows enough not to point it out, too.

Akechi strolls silently beside you, cursing the fact that he was in too much of a rush this morning to grab his umbrella. It didn’t take an ace detective to figure out the afternoon would usher in torrential rain, but the boy didn’t want to be tardy (again) to class. He doesn’t mind getting a bit wet, he considers, looking briefly at the pouring sky. The fact that  _you’re_  soaked is what makes him feel bad.

“I see you forgot an umbrella as well, _____,” he comments at length; pacing along in silence, knowing your heart is breaking but not knowing why, is just too much to bear. He may not be able to alleviate your suffering, but at the very least maybe he can ease the silence.

You look at him, surprised, for a moment, before gently nodding. He notes how red your eyes are before sighing slightly and shuffling a little closer. Akechi shouldn’t concern himself, shouldn’t get his heartstrings tangled up with yours any more than they already are. He twists his fingers through yours and quietly asks what’s wrong, anyway.

You halt suddenly, just standing, silent, in the rain. Big eyes laced with red and unspent tears bore into his for a moment before your shoulders begin to shudder. It’s like he’s acting on instinct after that; tugging you to a quiet corner of  the street, tugging your soaking body into his, gently patting your dripping hair. He’s never comforted anyone before, and it feels foreign and wrong. He doesn’t know how. So he just follows the little voice in the back of his head instructing him to rub your back, to hold you close, to whisper  _‘it’s going to be alright’_  in your ear.

He follows it when it suggests he kiss you, too. Gentle like you’re  going to break he traps your chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding your soft lips to brush his. This feels foreign, so unlike anything else, but it feels  _good._ It feels even better when he realizes you’re not sobbing anymore, just kissing back.

Akechi’s thumbs wipe away the tears and rain alike, and for a moment, even he believes when he whispers in your ear:  _everything is going to be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the hits and kudos! I never expected this many people to read my little drabbles ^.^


	9. Indecent. (Akira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ryuji sees more than he wants when you and Akira get far too into your makeout-session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW (probably less than you’re expecting considering the title).   
> Shoutout and huge thank you to skriiver for commenting! Thank you so much, it literally made my day ^.^

The shadowed brick wall lining the alley next to Ryuji’s favorite ramen joint is not exactly the best place to lock lips, but you’re not about to complain. After all, to do that, you’d have to break your mouth away.

Akira hums against your lips, the subtle vibrations sending heatwaves rippling through your nerves. Instinctively, your body curves closer to his;  _ more heat, more touch, more taste,  _ your mind demands. _ More, more, more.  _ Your hands tangle in the fluffy inkiness of his hair, tugging, needy. Akira chuckles; he gets the message. Rough, he rolls his hips. Delicious friction sends heat spiking through your core;  _ damn,  _ he’s good at this. Akira swallows the moan shivering from your throat.

Needy sound still leaks through, much to Ryuji’s chagrin. 

“Get an effin’  _ room,  _ you weirdos,” he half scoffs, half pleads. He came for ramen, not an all-access pass to his best friend verging on public indecency. The turn of events is less than pleasing.

“Hmmm,” Akira mumbles against your mouth, unconcerned. Lazily, his hands roam up and down your sides, mapping your curves. Bold thumbs trail the waistband of your jeans before pushing gently, sliding under the fabric of your shirt. Rubbing softly, Akira drags his fingers across your hips in slow patterns, dancing in tandem with his deft tongue. He’s a conductor, playing your body in all the right ways to coax a symphony of moans. 

Rationality melts away to sensation. You don’t care if anyone sees; you want more.  _ Need _ more. Your tongue sweeps the back of his teeth before dragging along the roof of his mouth. Akira tastes like coffee and curry and pure  _ heat. _ Your lips curve into a smirk as you break away and your boyfriend yelps in protest. He’s so damn hot when he’s needy.

Your lips flutter quickly back to his skin, kissing a heated trail to his jawline. Pausing at the curve below his ear, you nip gently. Akira moans. His hands slide across your skin, curving over you before settling on your rear. He smirks, devious, before pulling you flush against his pelvis and grinding.  _ Hard. _

Ryuji’s jaw nearly hits the floor. 

“Dude!” he nearly shouts. “Are you for real right now?!” 

Akira’s hands keep roving, unconcerned. He lifts a hand to your chin, trapping you between a thumb and forefinger. Gentle, he pulls you away from the trail of hickies you’re peppering over his neck. As soon as you’re off, his mouth dives for the dip between your collarbones. Bold, he drags his tongue over your pulse point, savoring the light taste hovering over your skin and your heartbeat thrumming lightly underneath his mouth.

_ Bliss, _ he thinks. Everything is all heat swirling in his core and your scent winding through his nostrils and your hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt. He presses a light kiss against your throat and pulls your hands around him to rest on his ass. A strangled moan breaks out when you dip your head and nip his ear.

“ ** _Hell_** _no!”_ Ryuji shouts, face practically stained tomato red. “I’m effin outta here! No way am I waiting anymore for you guys to cut this shit out!”

You feel a little bit bad as Ryuji, embarrassed, swings the door to the ramen joint open with a little too much force and sits, roughly, alone at the counter.

Akira descends back on your lips and you don’t feel bad for very long.


	10. Two Halves. (Akechi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running away from Tokyo for college didn’t fix the problems Akechi left behind, and when he returns he has to own up to his sins.   
> Namely, the one of breaking your heart.   
> (Reader is former Phantom Thief, Akechi survives Shido’s Palace, and Akechi and Akira have made up and become friends over time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W o w. This is it, guys. The longest scenario I’ve ever written. I’m so proud of it. Hope you enjoy!

It’s thirty four minutes after midnight when the train shudders into Shibuya station. A handful of passengers step out with the announcement and doors sliding open, unfurling black umbrellas almost on instinct. This year’s January brought too many storm clouds and the ever-present whiff of petrichor to Tokyo. The crowds know, by now, not to leave home without an umbrella.

Akechi doesn’t have an umbrella; he’s been away for too long. He steps off the train a little behind everyone else, pulling a suitcase behind him. He turns a little; first to the right, then to the left. They’ve remodeled the station, he realizes, because he needs a map to find the little convenience shop downstairs. Akechi doesn’t remember if they sell umbrellas there; he only went in to buy a breakfast sandwich, once, and that was years ago.

When he finally finds the shop they have one umbrella left and Akechi thinks that just maybe, for probably the first time in his life, he got lucky. He rushes in to claim his prize, gleeful. Perhaps Tokyo isn’t quite so cruel as he remembers.

He’s strolling through the exit, new purchase stretched over his head, when he sees a haircut from the corner of his eye that sends a wave of nostalgia rippling through his chest. Akechi stops and turns so fast he nearly gets whiplash. It can’t be…

His eyes pick the figure out of the crowd and Akechi freezes. It  _ is  _ you. You’re hair’s a little longer, shape a little taller. You’ve grown up, Akechi thinks. You’re prettier than you used to be, maybe, a treacherous corner of his mind whispers, but he quickly crushes the thought. Something makes him want to walk up to you, sweep a little kiss over your lips in greeting like he used to another lifetime ago. 

It wasn’t all fake and the memories still feel good, even if they leave a bad taste lingering somewhere deep in his throat. 

It’s too late for that, though, Akechi tells himself and turns away. Firm, he pushes the nostalgia of high school romance out of his head. He forces himself not to wonder why you’re wearing the thick wool jacket he gave you on your birthday years ago, before everything went sour, and steps out into rainy Tokyo.

***

Akechi senses a recurring theme as he wanders the streets of Tokyo, peering at the GPS on his phone. He needs a map to get out of the subway station, he needs a map to get to Leblanc; soon he’ll need a map to get to his own damn bedroom. It makes his heart feel a little funny in his chest; he’s like a stranger in his own city.

Then again, he always felt like that. Not knowing which street to turn down has nothing to do with it.

Leblanc, at least, hasn’t changed. As Akechi approaches he notices the hydrangea bushes Haru planted out front right before graduation are growing thick and tall. Maybe when the rain lets up he’ll wrap himself in gloves and a coat and take a picture to hang up in his dorm room.

When the door swings open and the little bell chimes above his head, Akechi smiles.  _ This  _ is the part of Tokyo from his good memories. The thick scent of coffee melding with the spice of curry. The low hum of the TV playing just under customer chatter. The old booths and rich wood of the counter. Even Sojiro stands in the exact same spot, cigarette perched between two of his fingers. There’s a little more grey around his temples.

“I hope the menu hasn’t changed since I left,” Akechi quips, sliding into his usual stool--can he still call it that if he hasn’t sat here in years?--with a bright smile. Sojiro doesn’t smile back, but Akechi’s unshaken. Most people from his past don’t, Akira being the exception. Akechi looks around eagerly for his friend, excited to share a cup of coffee and stories from college.

When he spots Akira coming down the stairs, his smile fades. What’s with the serious look? Akechi tilts his head, concerned.  _ ‘What’s the matter?’,  _ he wants to ask, but Akira speaks first.

“Akechi, you can come back later, but for now you need to go.”

Akechi’s brows knit in confusion. He locks eyes with Akira; he hasn’t seen an expression this grim on the man’s face since Loki’s first appearance. What in the  _ hell _ could possibly be this dire?

“Akira, what--” Akechi’s cut off when the bathroom door swings open and you cheerfully step out. All the air rushes out of his lungs. His heart bobs up and down like a tea bag in hot water. He gulps.

You  _ are _ prettier.

“Akechi.” Your voice is cold and hard, like his was when he told you he hated you. Tension snaps through Leblanc’s air; Akira stands behind the counter, looking very much like he wants to intervene. Akechi looks up at you and his shoulders sink. Guilt floods his veins. The look in your eyes--betrayal, pain, heartbreak--he’s the one that put it there. “Akira mentioned you were coming back to Tokyo. I didn’t think you’d show up here.”

“________-” he starts, but you cut him off with a glare.

“Don’t bother,” you say before shrugging on your coat and rushing out the door. Something strange hangs in your voice; something different than anger, than bitterness, than hatred. Something like disappointment. Akechi sighs. He wants to puke.

“I’m sorry,” Akira offers, even though they both know Akechi absolutely deserved that. The ace detective doesn’t respond so Akira, silent, slips a cup of coffee in front of him. Akechi stares, melancholy, into the drink.

You were wearing the jacket again today.

***

That night, Akechi has his first nightmare about you since high school.

You’re crumpled like old paper on the shifting floor of Shido’s palace, eyes shining with fat, heavy tears. He won’t shut up.

“You seriously think I  _ ever  _ loved you?” Akechi laughs, voice wrecked and heavy with sadistic bliss. “Using you to get to the Phantom Thieves was  _ easily  _ the most predictable part of my plan but you just wanted someone, anyone, to care for you so  _ fucking _ bad you just swallowed it all right up! You idiot…”

You’re sobbing by now. Ann is crouching by you, holding you, and when she looks back at him there’s such pure anger in her eyes.

“I fucking hate you.”

Akechi jolts awake, gasping. Sheets tangle through his limbs, wicking the cold sweat covering his body. It’s closer to a memory than a nightmare, and the thought makes Akechi’s stomach churn. He rubs his hands over his face;  _ why did I have to go that far _ . Maybe he didn’t love you, not really, but he never hated you…

Akechi reaches for his phone; 3:43 AM, it tells him. His fingers tap against the screen, a short message materializing.

_ ‘I’m sorry.’ _

His finger hovers over send for a solid five seconds before shifting and hitting the ‘delete’ button instead.

It’s too late for that.

***

Akechi sees you underneath a Shibuya restaurant awning in the pouring rain exactly one week later. You’re staring nervously into the downpour and he can’t figure out why; you always used to love the rain. Memories of dancing in a thunderstorm flicker through his brain but he blinks them away.

Against his better judgement, Akechi jogs over. When you see him that look, all pain, crosses through your eyes again but he tries to ignore it. 

“Forgetting your umbrella never used to bother you,” Akechi murmurs, staring out at the rain slapping the street so he doesn’t have to meet your eyes. He doesn’t know what to expect from you; it’s the first time you’ve been alone, just you and him and the space in between, since he shattered your heart like a dropped mug. Will you slap him? Flee? Curse him out and finally tell him that  _ you  _ fucking hate  _ him _ , too? 

What Akechi’s not expecting is a serious little response, whispered politely and so quiet it’s almost lost in the  _ pit pat pat  _ of rain smacking the ground. 

“I don’t want to get my coat wet.” The way you say it, it’s almost like a confession. Akechi silently gazes at the jacket—you’ve taken good care of it since he gave it to you, he realizes. It’s still a perfect lovely tan, matching the coat he used to wear. No holes, no spills, not even a wrinkle. 

Akechi tells himself it means something, but he can’t for the life of him figure out why that even matters. Why he cares about what you feel and think even though the last time he spoke to you was another lifetime and shrouded in pain. 

“Here,” Akechi offers quietly, holding the handle of his umbrella out to you gently. “It’s the least I can do.” 

You look up at him, eyes wide. It makes his heart do a funny little loop in his chest; he smiles at you, tiny but gentle and genuine. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice cracking at the end. Your lips pull into a thin line and he can tell you want to say more, but you don’t. You swipe a gloved hand at your eyes and it comes away wet. Akechi pretends he didn’t notice.

It’s not an ‘I’m sorry’, Akechi reflects as you walk away, but it’s a start. 

***

His phone startles him awake at two twenty two AM. Akechi considers rolling over in bed and cursing whoever’s still awake and thinking about him, but his hands grope for the device anyway. 

_ One new message.  _ Akechi nearly falls out of bed from the shock when he sees it’s from you; why the hell did you even keep his number in your phone? 

Then again, why did he keep yours? 

He sloppily taps his passcode and looks at your message. A lump forms hot and heavy at the back of his throat. 

‘Sorry for how I acted at Leblanc,’ the screen proclaims. ‘We’ve…had our issues, but I shouldn’t bring it out in public like that.” 

You’re still too good for him, just like back then. Now, though, the realization isn’t bitter; he’s not angry at you and the world and everything that labeled him an ‘undesirable’. He’s just sad, hoping for more. Hoping you’ll look at him again and want to smile instead of cry. He wants you to smile again, he realizes, and he wants to be the one to put it on your face. 

He doesn’t know what this odd feeling, this tightening in his chest is, but it’s not bad. Maybe he likes it.

Another text tone breaks him from his reflections. His eyes scan the message almost greedily. 

‘I don’t even know where you’re staying...where do you want me to bring your umbrella? I’ll feel bad keeping it.’

He texts back, probably too quickly.

‘I’m actually at my old apartment. If you want to come up to bring it back in the morning I’ll be here. I’m no Akira, of course, but perhaps I can make you a cup of coffee?’ Akechi kicks himself as soon as he hits send. Why the  _ hell  _ would you want coffee from him? Does he even have coffee beans in the cupboard? Does he even have a coffee maker, for that matter? 

You don’t respond for awhile, and as the clock ticks by and Akechi waits nervously, he berates himself for crushing the tiny thread of connection re-sprouting between you two. He’s always been too eager. He’s going too fast, trying too hard— 

A text tone breaks through Akechi’s worries. 

‘I’ll stop by. And as for the coffee...we’ll see.’ 

We’ll see. A smile breaks across Akechi’s face; we’ll see. It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no, either. 

He’s never felt so good about a maybe.

***

“You know, Akechi,” you smile slightly into your coffee cup.”You make it really hard to stay angry at you.”

Akechi’s head is still swimming; half with the fact that you actually stepped in his apartment for longer than it would take to hurl his umbrella at the coat closet and flee, and half with the fact that just talking to him doesn’t make you miserable. So he decides to just take your little comment as a compliment, and not think about it.

“...Thank you.” He breathes at length, even though deep inside he knows he doesn’t deserve it. A little timid, his eyes lift from the rim of his coffee cup and lock with yours; you’re staring. Akechi swallows thickly. The hurt isn’t gone; it’s probably like his shadow, he realizes. Appearing when he does, leaving when he goes away. But there’s more to it, now. Underneath those painful memories, the heartbreak, all the years asking  _ why. _

Akechi swears it’s hope.

“I am truly sorry.” The words rush out all at once, quiet and gentle but sincere. His voice is almost lost under the pattering of rain against the windows and he half wishes it actually was; that you didn’t hear. Truth be told he’s dreamed of this moment thousands of times. Fantasized about apologizing. He’s even rehearsed the speech in his head; he’d kneel and confess every sin against you and beg for forgiveness, like the one Catholic family that took him in for three months taught him to do in the confession box. This...this quick statement, thrown out in the heat of the moment is so crude. Akechi reflects on the irony; when it came to your fake love years ago he was the puppetmaster, but now that it really matters he just blurts out whatever comes to mind.  _ Pathetic. _

Your voice is light and sweet but serious and it breaks him from his swirling thoughts.

“Akechi...you mean it this time.” It’s a statement, not a question, but he murmurs a response anyway.

“I do.”

Silence falls over you two, thick like winter blankets. You stare into your coffee, thinking. Akechi stares into his coffee, too, but he isn’t thinking. He’s simply afraid to look you in the eyes.

“Akechi...I forgive you.”

Akechi nearly spits out his coffee. 

“You...you do?”

You force a little laugh, and Akechi can tell you’re still hanging on to a little pearl of pain. He can tell you’re serious, though, too,  _ you forgive him _ , and he can’t for the life of him wrap his dazed mind around why.    
“If Akira can be friends with you again after you basically shot him in the head and staged his own suicide, then I can try to be friends with you again, too.” You reach a hand across the coffee table, holding it out expectantly. “Akechi… let’s try to be friends again.”

If he thinks about it too much he’s sure his brain will burst, so Akechi merely smiles, small and gentle. Delicately, he takes your hand and tries to ignore the fireworks show blasting through his head and chest.

“Deal.”

**  
** ***

You’re crying in your sleep.

At first when Akechi notices the trails on your face he thinks his ceiling must have sprung a leak somehow and he glares at the tile above in sleepy annoyance. Then, though, a strangled little whimper echoes pitifully through the apartment. Akechi’s gaze shoots back to you. You’re shaking, and he knows for a fact you have too many blankets from his linen closet draped over you for it to be from cold.

Quietly, Akechi tiptoes to your side. He considers shaking you awake for a moment, but something spinning in his chest just won’t quite let him reach out. Sleepy eyes roam your face lazily. Your lips look so soft. Velvet, almost. Your skin’s all speckled with pretty little bumps and marks that his gaze follows like connect-the-dots. Akechi drinks it in. Your tone, face shape, the curve of your eyelashes and your hair in your face.

_ God,  _ you’re so pretty. 

For a moment Akechi blesses the thunderstorm that left you stranded in Shibuya and seeking shelter for the night on his couch.

Then you whimper again, and Akechi’s heart shatters. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright,” He comforts, crouching so he’s eye-level. Gently, he shakes your shoulders. “I’m here, you’re alright…” 

Your eyes fly open. Gasping, you sit up, instantly burying your face in your hands. You’re silent, now, but he can tell you’re trying  _ so hard  _ to hold yourself together. You’re failing, he notes, as your shoulders begin to shake.

Akechi sighs, sliding next to you on the couch. Somewhere in the back of his brain his common sense screams  _ don’t touch,  _ because the last time he hugged you was just hours before he essentially shot one of your best friends in the face, and you don’t need those bad memories resurfacing right now. 

He slides an arm around you anyway. You crumble into him. 

“Bad dream?” He prods at length, when the tears stop and your breathing evens out. You nod and Akechi squeezes you comfortingly. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate,” He offers gently. “Don’t feel the need to talk about it if you don’t want...but I’ll always be a shoulder to lean on when you need it.” 

You’d smile, if you could, but the nightmare still hangs on the edge of your mind so you murmur a quiet little  _ thank you  _ instead. 

When he returns with two steaming mugs you blurt out the confession so fast Akechi almost has to ask you to repeat it, but maybe ten times slower. 

“I see you dying almost every night.”

Akechi sits down, hands you a mug, and waits silently for you to continue.

“In Shido’s palace….I really thought you were gone. Just, dead. Just like that.” You snap your fingers. “It’s so stupid to be so caught up in it now. You’re alive.  _ You’re sitting right next to me.  _ But I just can’t...I can’t get that look on your face out of my head. That other you. That gunshot…”

“You still cared so much, even after I told you I hated you?” Akechi rubs a soft hand over your own. You squeeze it, lightly, and his heart jumps into his throat.  _ It feels nice. _

“Akechi…” you sigh. There’s so much sadness lacing your voice. Akechi’s eyes dart to the floor. For the millionth time he just wishes to god he could go back, that he could fix this. Just so that he’d never have to hear you talk like this. “You broke my heart. That doesn’t mean I just stopped loving you.”

His heart’s instantly spinning in his chest, round and round like the drum of a washing machine.  _ Do you love me  _ **_now_ ** _?  _ His pupils blow. Suddenly his skin’s too warm and his face is flushed. A little tremor tumbles down his spine. Every nerve in his body screams for him to just ask, ask,  _ ask! _

Akechi shakes his head. Breathes in, out, in. 

Now is not the time. 

“I used to be cripplingly afraid of thunderstorms.” Akechi breaks the silence after what feels like far too long. You raise an eyebrow at the sudden change in topic. “My mother, my real one, would always awake in the middle of stormy nights to find me trembling by the corner of my bed.” He smiles with something like melancholy. “I don’t remember what she’d say, exactly, but she never told me to go back to bed or to stop whimpering. She simply rolled over in bed and patted the space next to her. She never told me my fears were irrational; she always just let me babble, on and on, until I was calm enough to sleep.”

“She sounds like she was a good mom,” you offer. He hums in agreement.

“She was… but that isn’t the point I’m trying to make. What I’m trying to say…” Akechi trails off, deep in thought. You sip your cocoa and wait for him to think.

“I don’t care if you think your fears are silly. I didn’t try to protect you before, but I will, now. You can tell me anything, everything, and I will be here to comfort you.”

Neither of you say much after that. You simply sit, silent but turning his words around in your head like a Rubiks cube. Akechi worries that was too much; he went too far,  _ again. _

But when you fall asleep a little smile curves over your beautiful soft lips. Akechi tells himself it’s because of him and his heart does a funny somersault behind his ribs. He stares past the rain  _ pat pat patting  _ against his window into Tokyo’s night. Absentmindedly he wonders why that always happens when you’re around, even if not-so-deep-down, if he’s honest with himself, he already knows.

Akechi loves you.

***

Four days later you show up at Akechi’s door a quarter past midnight,  wearing a smile and a little white dress that makes a butterfly garden bloom in his stomach. 

“Remember that day we both ditched class and danced in the rain until we got sick?” 

Akechi laughs. How could he forget? You made him chicken soup but sneezed in it at the end so you two ended up camped in front of the TV, massively disappointed and eating heated up Campbell’s.

“Come on, Akechi,” you grab his hand and he blushes just a little at the sudden heat. “Dance with me again.” 

He doesn’t want to get cold, he doesn’t want to get wet, he doesn’t want to get sick, and he doesn’t want his neighbors to think he’s a loon for spinning around underneath a rainy street lamp at nearly one in the morning. When he sees the spark in your eyes, though, he can’t say no. 

“You’d better keep up,” he teases as he quickly slides on a pair of shoes and stumbles in the hallway. “My dancing’s gotten better.” 

“Fat chance,” you laugh, and he tries to think up some witty retort but you’re already pulling him down the stairs at a breakneck pace so he just focuses on not tripping and dying.

It takes only two minutes for your clothes to get drenched and heavy, clinging pitifully to your skin. Your hair hangs in wet ropes and your skin is red with cold, but your eyes light up when you laugh, pure euphoria, and spin in clumsy circles.

Akechi thinks this is the prettiest you’ve ever been.

Suddenly his hands are on your waist, mid-spin. You stop and stare at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, before he even realizes he reached out. Part of him, the rational part, wants to recoil like his hands just landed on a hot stove. The other part-- the bigger part that’s so shamelessly, furiously, madly in love with you, tell him to pull you closer.

He listens to the bigger part.

“Do you remember what I said to you? When you were wrapped in my arms and we slow-danced beneath that street light?” He asks, urgent, like he’s almost begging you to recall. There’s a wild, desperate little frenzy skipping through his eyes. Lightly, his hands tremble against you. 

“You said you loved me,” you breathe. A soft hand leaves your waist and jumps up to cup your cheek. Akechi’s thumb wanders slowly, reverently, over your bottom lip. He leans in until your foreheads almost touch.

“And what happened after?”

You gulp. “I kissed you.” 

“And?”

“I told you I loved you, too. Forever and always.”

“If I tell you I love you again… out here, in this thunderstorm, with you in my arms against me. If I tell you I love you, right here, where anyone in Tokyo could see us...If I tell you I love you, just like I did back then…”

“Akechi,” you gasp. Both hands are cupping your face now. You’re looking straight into his eyes. There’s hope, just maybe, spinning in your gaze, and Akechi uses it to spur himself on.

“If I mean it this time, will you respond the same way?”

You smash your lips into his.

It’s thirty four minutes after midnight, and Akechi, for the first time in his life, is whole.


End file.
